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I’m not even out here a minute when my phone rings.
I rush back inside and scramble for it at the bottom of my bag. Without any hesitation, I accept the video call.
“Mom. Is everything okay?” I ask when her smiling face pops on the screen.
“Of course, honey. Why would you ask that?”
“Because you rarely do video calls.”
“I had to see it with my own two eyes,” she says.
“See what?”
She squints her green eyes at me. “If this Miss Holy Chic the press keeps talking about is the same person as my daughter, Arianne Buchanan.”
I laugh.
“Even your father insisted on me calling you. He’s certain someone kidnapped you and is duping the world by passing as you. When did our daughter become such a freakin’ gorgeous model?”
I laugh even harder.
She joins me.
“You’re so dramatic,” I tell her, regaining my composure and wiping tears from my eyes.
“Honey, your it-takes-a-hell-of-a-lot-to-impress-me dad is beside himself. So am I,” she says. “You wear glamour well.”
I beam.
“You like the new look?”
“I love it! Now, you look like mini me,” she says, smoothing her natural blonde hair. “All kidding aside, I was starting to wonder if I didn’t have to call your publicist to get through to you,” Mom says. “Didn’t you get my text messages?”
“I’m sorry. I was going to call you back. I was out with Phoebe.”
“Oh, how is she doing?”
“She’s acing all areas of her life. As usual.”
“Nothing new there. You two are such go-getters,” Mom says. “Hence, why you’ve been best friends since the first day you met.”
I walk to the couch, sit down and stretch my bare legs on the coffee table.
“Are you calling to catch up or is this about Germany?” I get right to the point.
“Everywhere I turn, there you are with that gorgeous man with the beautiful blue eyes. But then, you have to go all Hollywood on me. I can’t believe you spent three days in Germany with Cello2Cello! They’re huge stars!” Mom shouts that last part.
“So is Beckett.”
“That may be the case, but I’ve never heard his music. You know how much I love, love, love Cello2Cello.” The second I introduced her to their music, she was hooked. “Did you get me an autograph?”
“No, Mom. I didn’t want to come across like a crazy fan girl.”
“Oh.” She does little to hide her disappointment.
“I might meet them again—”
“You can’t be serious.” Her eyes grow as wide as saucers.
